


Right On Through.

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Brain Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's reprieve is Avon's punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right On Through.

Avon sat among the rebels, sipping a goblet of red wine and picking at the food laden plate in front of him. It was a glorious summer's day, and the others decided that they wanted their dinner outside. He protested, but was forced out of doors by Dayna and Vila.

Blake was standing a few feet away, having a heated discussion with Avalon: his face was flushed with emotion, there were twigs and leaves in his hair, and the knees of his trousers were stained from sitting on the grass. Suddenly, Blake laughed, his head thrown back, showing the pale expanse of his throat.

He forced himself to look away, to concentrate on his meal.

 _He throws his head back against the pillow, moaning._

Avon picked at the food and scowled: the meat was burnt and the potatoes undercooked. He did not look up when someone sat across the table from him.

"You're Avon, aren't you?"

His stomach clenched and he forced himself to look up into Blake's curious gaze. "Yes."

"You were there when I woke." Blake reached out and plucked a peach from the bowl of fruit between them. "Vila says that I know you."

"Does he?" Avon pushed his plate away.

"He says you were on the L-Liberator. I asked the doctors' why I can't remember you. They say it must have something to do with the brain damage." Blake frowned at the peach, turning it in his hands. Then suddenly, he looked at Avon. "Were we friends?"

Avon shook his head and stood. "I'm behind on my work."

"All right." Blake blinked up at him in confusion and bit into the peach.

He hurried inside.

 _His mouth is sweet and sticky from the fruit._

It was a week before Blake tracked him down. He was several hours into a project, kneeling next to an open panel on one of their computers.

Blake sat next to him on the floor, his back pressed against the smooth side of the wall. He watched, quietly for a moment, then spoke. "I tried to remember you, but I keep coming up blank."

Avon's hands were steady as he reconnected the wires to the processor. "Perhaps that's for the best. We were not friends."

"Why not?"

"I did not believe in your cause." It came out harsher than he meant.

"You're here now." Blake's voice was soft and hesitant. He reached out and placed his hand on Avon's arm.

"I must concentrate on my work." He looked at his watch. "And you have physical therapy in ten minutes."

"I don't like not remembering things."

That was an understatement. "Go."

Blake scrambled to his feet. "Perhaps you could tell me what I've forgot. Tomorrow? I have an appointment with a speech p-- p--"

"Pathologist." Avon set down the probe with more force than necessary and picked up the small torch to peer inside the computer's inner workings.

"Yes. I have a meeting with her, but I'm free afterward. We could have dinner in my room."

"Perhaps, if I am able to finish this tonight."

"Well, I'll leave you to your work then."

After Blake left, Avon waited a few minutes, then he picked up the probe, cut the wires he had so carefully replaced, and blew out the processor.

 _When the door opens, he is waiting; his voice rumbles a warm hello._

Avon waited, impatiently, for his turn at the carafe. The smell of coffee made the muscles of his shoulders relax fractionally. If only he could get to it.

"You can have mine, if you'd like. I haven't put in cream or sugar yet."

He tensed; he'd been able to avoid Blake for a week after their 'discussion' in the comptuer room. "No, thank you."

"Please, take it." Blake gently placed the cup in his hands. "I'm not supposed to have coffee and you look like you need it more than I do."

Avon would have been offended, but he was too busy taking his first drink. When he had finished most of the cup, he glanced at Blake. "Thank you."

Blake nodded and smiled uncertainly at him. "Doctor Anns says I'm doing much better."

It took Avon a moment to remember which doctor, of Blake's many doctors, that was. "Your speech pathologist."

"Yes." He nibbled on the side of his thumb, then said, softly. "I waited."

"I had not finished in time." The words came easy to Avon's lips. He took a sip of coffee to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth.

"Oh, no! No, of course." Blake hunched his shoulders and continued to gnaw on his thumb.

 _His mouth parts and he sighs._

Avon could see that the cuticle was stained with dried blood.

"We could have breakfast--"

"No, I'm afraid not." Avon finished the coffee and tossed the paper cup. "I still have much to do."

He squirmed. "What about--"

 _He squirms, laughing with delight._

"No!" he said, sharply, then more softly, "No. That would be unwise." He turned and left Blake standing in the middle of the room.

The doctors said that the dissonance between who he had been and who he now was would be difficult for Blake to reconcile. It was better that he not remember Avon.

It had been agreed.

 _In a voice rough with passion, he promised he would never forget._

Blake's reprieve was his punishment.


End file.
